Lydia Kimble Graham

West Virginia Review
September 1934

Lydia Kimble Graham
by J. M. Bennett

Up among the beautiful hills
of Pendleton County, West
Virginia, there dwells an aged
lady, who has the unique
distinction of receiving a pension
from the National Government
because her husband fought on
the American side during our
Second War for Independence.

It was on a pleasant spring
morning, not long ago, that I first
wound my way to her little
mountain home, situated amid
majestic scenery, some miles
north of the picturesque little
town of Franklin.

I truly expected to see a
woman badly worn with years, for
was she not a widow of a soldier
of that long-ago-war, and had I
not been informed that she was
nearing the century mark? So, as I
followed the byway that led from
the main highway up the little
valley and around the foot of the
hill, I found myself fearing that
perhaps it would be impossible
after all for me, a stranger, to get
an interview with this old, old
woman. And, if I were successful
in this, would not her sense
faculties be dimmed by years and
her memory blurred with age?

Imagine my joyful surprise
when a dear old lady, erect and
nimble beyond all expectation,
possessing a pleasant countenance,
and charming manner; with keen
sight and acute hearing, met me at
the door of her modest but snug
little home, half hidden among
the flowers and bushes, and
informed me that she was Mrs.
Graham.

"Come right in," she said
pleasantly, "but you will have to
excuse my appearance, as I've
been working in the garden - . ..
Oh, yes, I still work in my garden,
'tend to my flowers, and do my
housework," she added in answer
to my expression of surprise. "My
son and his wife," she continued
as we seated ourselves, "are very
good to me, and they want me to
stop working, but you see I was
never used to being idle, and I'm
afraid I wouldn't like it."

Her son and daughter-in-law,
of whom she spoke, are thrifty
people, who live near her and
never let her want for anything.

As we sat talking, she related
to me in a very interesting way
the story of her life and that of
her former husband, the late Isaac
Graham, who entered the War of
1812 at the age of nineteen, and
served in Bodkin's Division of the
Virginia Militia.

"My husband," she went on,
"was born on May 12, 1793. This
was during Washington's
administration, you know, and
the year that the cornerstone was
laid for the National Capitol. I
remember my husband used to
smile, when asked his age, and say
that he was as old as the National
Capitol. He had a vivid memory,
and enjoyed talking about the
war, the gold rush, pioneer days,
and so forth, right up till the time
of his death, which occurred on
November 10,1881."

Mrs. Graham said that she was
born during Van Buren's
administration, near the place
where she now dwells.

"Though I have always lived in
Pendleton County," she smilingly
said, "nevertheless, I have been a
resident of two states. I lived in
Virginia until I was twenty-five,"
she explained, "at which time this
part of the state separated from
the Mother State and became
West Virginia. I never had a desire
to live elsewhere. I love my hills
and my mountain home. Though I
have lived to see this country pass
through four victorious wars, and
was united in marriage to a dear
old soldier who had served his
country faithfully in another, I
have no desire to talk about wars.
I have seen and heard too much
about them, I suppose. I trust we
never have another war. I would
much rather think about the
beauties of nature." Her eyes
brightened as she glanced through
the open door at the distant hills.
"And here, stranger, nature is at
its best. The beautiful sunsets, the
towering mountains, the cooling
springs, the green pastures, the
crystal rivers, the shady forests, all
help to make this one of the most
charming places that can be
imagined."

Beckoning me to follow, she
led the way to a cool spot beneath
the trees. From this pleasant
location we could see far across
the hills to the distant mountains,
which faded to a hazy blue mist
and blended with the smoky rim
of the sky on the far-away
horizon.

"When I was young," she
continued without taking her eyes
from the scene at which we had
been gazing for some time in
silence, "I dearly loved to climb
those rugged mountains to their
summits. The view from those
advantageous points never fail to
awe, silence, and inspire me. I am
no longer able to go up there, but,
like the Hebrew poet of old,
thank God, I can still 'lift up mine
eyes to the hills, from whence my
strength cometh.' I have dwelt
among these hills all my life, love
them dearly, and desire that
others may see and love them and
benefit from them as I have. To
me they are always a source of
inspiration."

Mrs. Graham, who has just
celebrated her ninety-sixth
birthday, possesses such a keen
aesthetic sense and such a tender
poetic nature that she cannot fail
to hear and understand the call of
natural beauty after having been
reared amid the fascinating
splendor of Pendleton County.

Mrs. Graham, like most of the
people of Pendleton County, has
come down from generations of
people who were reared in close
communion with nature. Hers is a
love for her hills that amounts to
an obsession. As long as she lives
she will retain that tender and
deep-seated affection for her hills,
and her little home among
them.